Defy The Stars
by Lady Leita
Summary: In the aftermath of Defiance, the Reaver has crossed hands. But when Kain unknowingly slays a Hylden that has wandered into his domain, does Nosgoth's future hang in the balance? Post Defiance, pre SR1.
1. Chapter 1: Resurrection

**Long time no see, eh?**

**Re-discovering these games after so many years was such a treat, it's amazing how old fandoms spring back to life when you turn on the PS2. **

**Just a short drabble I came up with after finishing Defiance-set after Defiance, but before SR1. Enjoy!**

* * *

"What _was_ that thing?" Rahab asked, breaking the silence that had risen from the creature's dying screams.

Kain frowned, looking down at the twisted corpse at his feet. It was an atrocity of khaki-colored skin stretched thin over bones now twisted at odd angles from the blows of the Reaver, offset by long gashes leaking crimson blood that neither Kain nor his lieutenants were keen to touch. It had no hair to speak of and was clothed in rags, which barely substantiated its emaciated frame. Two odd, wing-like appendages stretched from its back, now splayed out in a macabre parody of the ancient winged race that Vorador so idolized. Slowly growing pools of blood reflected the dying green fire that had been its eyes.

It was a creature that Kain had never seen before, though he felt a strange sense that he recognized it and should be afraid. He shifted his hand around the Reaver, not really wanting to sheath his weapon until he was sure the vile thing was dead. Hesitantly, showing a level of fear he would normally punish his lieutenants for, he poked it in the side with the tip of his sword.

Zephon, emboldened by Kain's display, immediately darted forward to touch it.

"Don't be stupid," Turel snarled at his younger brother, "We don't know—"

"It is dead, Turel, what harm can it do us now?" Raziel said, rolling his eyes at the second oldest. "I say we give it to Melchiah to dissect, or something."

Melchiah frowned at the idea of having to take the corpse of the creature into his realm. "I don't want it. Let Rahab have it, he's the smartest here—perhaps he can figure out what it is."

"I don't want it either," Rahab said, scowling. "What am I to do with it, anyway?"

"It's no good to me dead," Dumah growled, and no one contested him.

"Ew, look at this," Zephon said cheerfully, holding up the creature's leg. It split about mid-calf, splitting into a foot and a separate leg-spike that looked of bone.

"Maybe Zephon should have it," Melchiah offered.

"I don't want it," Zephon said quickly, dropping the corpse's limb.

"What do we do with it, then?"

"Destroy it," Kain said finally. His six lieutenants turned and looked at him—his face was set, grave. "Burn it to ashes. Let no one know it was here."

"Yes sir," his sons mumbled, before arguing about who should carry the corpse to the furnace. Dumah was eventually drafted into carrying it, and the other five accompanied him, their reasons best summed up by Zephon's idle musing on what color it would burn. They would find out afterward that the corpse burned a very boring and normal shade of orange.

Kain sat down in his throne, musing over what had just happened. The creature had addressed him by name, before launching into a screaming attack—normally he would not have been surprised, as he was the vampire emperor of Nosgoth, but he did not like the otherworldly air given off by the creature. Its strangeness worried him.

The Reaver was beginning to worry him too. Seeing it glowing and active wasn't unusual for the sword, as it often returned the energy from the souls it devoured as powerful attacks and spells to Kain. What was unusual was seeing it glowing in this way such a long time after a fight. The spirit inside the Reaver was agitated, a far cry from its usual passive power.

His lieutenants returned en masse, chattering loudly, bringing him back from his thoughts. They smelt of ash and burning flesh—he concluded that they had obeyed him, and beckoned them forward when they waited at the customary distance away from the throne when Kain did not desire an audience.

"That creature concerns me greatly," Kain said, using the Reaver as a crutch as he rose from his throne. "I feel that that thing did not belong here, like it was an intruder from another world. I do not expect another to appear, but if one does, I want it captured and—

_Put me down_

Kain stopped mid-command, puzzled. He looked at each of his waiting lieutenants, each of their faces wearing a similar look of confusion and interest. "Did one of you speak?"

One by one, sharing quick looks of surprise and mistrust amongst themselves, each of his lieutenants shook their heads. "None of us interrupted you, father," Raziel said, frowning.

"I heard something," Kain muttered, taking a moment to scan his surroundings for an answer, perhaps a fledgling that thought it would be amusing to interrupt an important counsel of the Emperor's, or a human with a death wish.

Raziel's frown turned into one of worry. "I heard nothing, father."

"Neither did I."

"Nor I."

"Enough," Kain said, holding up a hand to silence them. He closed his eyes and listened, filtered out the beating of his own heart, and searched the area. To his surprise and irritation, he heard nothing but his six lieutenants shifting around nervously.

"Whatever it was, it's gone now," Dumah said once Kain opened his eyes, "You wish the creature captured, father. And…?"

"Yes, captured and brought to me," Kain said, his eyes darting around the ruin of the Pillars once again. "I _will_ know what these things are." His attention returned to his sons, and he continued, "You will all be present when the interrogation begins. The more all of us know, the better—

_Put me down NOW_

"There it was again," Kain snarled, darting around in search of the voice's owner.

"Father," Raziel stammered.

"What?" Kain snapped, turning to his firstborn.

Raziel's attention wasn't fixed on Kain, or anyone else for that matter. "The Reaver…"

Kain looked down at his sword, and lifted it up, his wide eyes reflecting the blue-white fire that danced along the blade. "What in hell?"

_PUT ME DOWN_

The command was accompanied by a lick of white fire darting across Kain's hand to the pommel of the sword, causing the Reaver to clatter to the ground amid the growled curses as Kain clutched his burnt hand. His lieutenants backed up, giving the sword a wide berth as the raw energy encased the blade.

The flames died much more quickly than they had started up, and the Reaver lay on the ground, silent. "Father," Turel began, hesitantly, "What is—" He yelped in fear as the Reaver suddenly bucked off the ground in vaguely his direction, the sword moving of its own accord. Energy flared along the blade once more, casting eerie shadows as the sword writhed in a silent battle with itself. The energy swelled and twisted, and—"Oh, _god_, what _is_ that?" Zephon sputtered as a white, spectral appendage that looked unnervingly like an arm reached out of the sword and groped for purchase, before being sucked into the Reaver with all the rest of the energy. An audible cry of frustration and despair rent the air, unearthly in its apparent disembodied state, or even more disturbing since Kain and every one of his sons had concluded that it had, indeed, come from the now-silent sword.

Silence reigned for about two minutes, before anyone even had a word to speak.

All at once, the sword bucked, screamed, and blazed fiercely, and as soon as it began the sword was thrown one way, clattering to the ground at Melchiah's feet, and a mangled blue creature the other, landing in a heap at the feet of Kain.

* * *

**Reviews and crits most welcome, it's been a while.**


	2. Chapter 2: Revelation

**Sorry the update took so long, AP tests and finals and all that jazz. _ Well, here it is. Enjoy!**

* * *

The lieutenants and their father stared in silent shock at the strange being now curled in the fetal position at their lord's feet, trying to discern just what the hell it was. The air was rent by its exhausted panting, as though it had just won a hard battle of endurance and strength—it was a starved, twisted creature, its body almost skeletal, the bones of the spine, ribcage and hip in sharp relief to the rest of its blue body—muscles could clearly be seen along its legs and arms. With growing horror, the assembled vampires realized that it wasn't just that they could see its spine—it had almost no lower torso, the organs and muscle mysteriously _gone_, leaving only the spine and some associated muscle tissue left to connect its hips with its chest. Two flaps of what they assumed was skin hung from its back, the edges ripped and tattered. The creature moved its head—they saw raven hair, cut short, and blue pointed ears over a brown fabric the color of old, faded blood that encircled the thing's entire neck and shoulders. Its face was turned away from them, partially covered by a familiar three-fingered hand, the fingers more like claws, wrapped in rags roughly the same color as its cowl. The creature stretched out a leg—they realized with dread that it _was_ muscle they were seeing, devoid of any skin whatsoever, ending with an odd boot that encased the two-taloned foot.

The creature's panting slowed and calmed—a circumstance more eerie by the fact that, the entire time, the being's chest had not expanded once—and it stretched out more fully. It was maybe a little shorter than Raziel, and it rose to its knees slowly, unsteadily, as if it were a fledgling trying to stand for the first time. It still faced the ground.

"Forgive me, Kain," the creature said, startling all of the vampires and causing Zephon to trip over his heels in surprise, "I have been imprisoned in that sword for… Millennia, now, surely. It is… difficult… to remember."

A rare look of pity crossed Kain's face, and, perhaps out of respect for the spirit of the sword that had served him so faithfully, he dropped to one knee, and extended an arm to assist the creature's rising.

"No!" the being said viciously, swatting away Kain's arm. "Let me do it!" It let out a long, drawn out breath, and rose wobbly to its feet.

Kain looked the being in the face—or what showed of it, anyway. The brown cowl covered everything from right below the eyes down, but the dusky blue skin of the creature's forehead and dark, almost black markings around its opaque, faintly glowing white eyes was enough to send a shudder running down Kain's spine. And those pale markings on the creature's cowl—was that the symbol of the Razielim?

The creature looked Kain in the eyes for another moment, before its legs buckled beneath it and it fell. This time, it accepted Kain's offered assistance. "Forgive me… I am weak. I expended much of my energy escaping from the damned Reaver," the being said, its voice both alien and eerily familiar. A sudden breeze caused the flaps of skin on its back to flutter briefly, a grim mockery of the half-cape Kain and his sons wore. "I must rest—feed—regain my energy," the creature gasped, almost crumpling to the ground despite Kain's support.

Kain nodded. "Zephon, Melchiah, fetch a—" he paused, at loss for words.

"Bring something, anything, as long as it's alive," the creature croaked, attempting to regain its balance. The remaining four sons noticed warily that the creature's form seemed to flicker and go fuzzy around the edges, as if it were only barely keeping itself together. Its head drooped as it muttered to itself—a spell to keep it in this realm?

The pair reappeared not thirty seconds later, half-dragging a human slave too sickly to be of any use, and clearly on death's doorstep. Kain scowled and prepared some harsh words for the poor treatment of his "guest"—except that the creature staggered forward, off his arm, towards the human. Melchiah and Zephon retreated to their father's side, where the other lieutenants were waiting, watching the creature with wide, nervous eyes. Halfway there, the creature fell to his knees, and crawled the rest of the distance.

"Easy, friend, shh," the creature said, as if comforting the terrified human, "Your torment will be over soon. I swear to make it quick." With that, it snapped the human's neck. Its back to Kain and his sons, it pulled open the cowl—for what, Kain could not discern, even as he craned his neck to try and glimpse what lay under the makeshift mask.

The creature rose to its feet, cautiously but sure-footedly, and turned back towards Kain and the others, approaching now on steady feet. "Thank you. Now I have the strength to aid you—I shall need more energy to assist you in battle, but I can hunt for myself now."

"Battle?" Kain mumbled.

The creature stepped forward, putting a hand on Kain's shoulder as he passed. "We must discuss your battle plans with the Hylden."

"Hylden? What's a Hylden?" Dumah said, scowling. "And what are _you_? _Who_ are you? What in hell is going on here?"

The creature narrowed its eyes as it turned to Dumah. "I do not like the term, but I suppose 'wraith' describes me adequately," it began, leering at the third-born, "And who I am is none of _your_ concern, only Kain's. I don't even know how you're _here_."

"I am _here_ because I am the _third Lieutenant_ of our Lord Kain," Dumah snarled right back, stepping toe-to-toe with the wraith, "And who you are is _very much_ my concern, if you seek to go to battle at the side of my Lord!"

"Third Lieutenant—!" The wraith fumed, before turning abruptly to the right and seeing the astonished faces of Melchiah and Rahab. The creature stopped abruptly, its expression of anger slowly turning into one of shock, as it took in each of the Lieutenants in turn, finally lingering on Raziel. "But how…? This doesn't…" it mumbled, looking down at its hands, the Reaver on the ground, and finally at Kain. Or, more specifically, the shattered remains of the Pillars directly behind Kain.

"If I'm at the Pillars…" the wraith said, "Then you're… Oh, damn it all! You're the _wrong Kain!_"


	3. Chapter 3: Reaver

**Dearie me, it's been a while since the last update. Sorry guys, it was finals, graduation, all that jazz. :( But I'm trying to get on a schedule now.**

**Thanks Twitchy Hamster! You're awesome my single signed reviewer! :D and No One In Particular, I like your name. Thanks too!**

**The plot thickens... Enjoy!**

* * *

"_Wrong Kain?_" Kain snarled, advancing on the blue creature. "How can I be the 'wrong Kain'?"

"How did I not realize this sooner?" the wraith muttered, ignoring Kain and beginning to pace. "I _thought_ sensed a change. Makes sense _now_. Oh, when I find him, I'm going to _kill him_."

Dumah, taking the wraith's angry musings as a direct threat to his master, did what came naturally.

The wraith flew with the strength of Dumah's attack, landing in a heap a good ten, twelve feet away. It moved slowly, steadily, bringing its arms and legs beneath it in a sure-footed, almost casual way.

When the creature looked up, however, the fury burning in its eyes made Kain's stomach drop like a rock.

Dumah snarled.

The Wraith snarled right back.

Dumah leapt at the creature, unsheathing his sword and readying his claws to punish this creature for its insolence.

Something erupted out of the wraith's right arm, and it leapt forward to meet Dumah, eyes blazing.

The wraith's spectral appendage and Dumah's sword clashed with an unearthly shriek, the blow jarring Dumah's arm and causing him to stagger back a step—the wraith, however, beat him further back, its spectral blade screaming and hitting harder than any blade made of metal—except, perhaps, the Soul Reaver.

Kain and his remaining lieutenants watched in horror, not wanting to insult Dumah's honor or incur the wrath of the Wraith by intervening. Step by step, the vampire retreated, and it was all he could do to keep his sword arm up and fend off the worst of the blows.

A broken flagstone caught Dumah's heel, and the vampire fell. With a backhanded blow, the wraith knocked the sword out of Dumah's hand, and with a swift move, the tip of its blade was at his throat.

"Let this be a lesson," the wraith said, its voice dangerously soft, "Do not _toy_ with me. I have faced far greater creatures than _you_ and remained to tell the tale."

The tip of its sword lifted, and Dumah allowed himself to breathe once again.

Then, the wraith turned for a moment to its arm—and the spectral blade that still writhed down it. A look of shock, then misery crossed its face. Closing its eyes, the blade disappeared.

"I am impressed," Kain said solemnly, causing the wraith to start. "Not many, upon being attacked, would spare the life of their assailant in this day and age."

"He has a part to play still," the wraith said. It paused, then added, "This is not the time, nor the place."

This time Kain paused, contemplating the strange creature. "You sound like a human I once knew."

"We know the same human," the wraith said. "Moebius gave me much trouble in his time. He did, however, get what he deserved."

Kain smiled. He had fully intended to hunt down Moebius after his strange disappearance, but all his efforts had come to naught—he eventually assumed that the Timestreamer had crawled into some wretched corner of the world and killed himself before Kain did. A smart move, when you took into account the amount of torture Kain would have liked to inflict upon him.

"Surely you have a name?" Kain said, looking the wraith over.

"R—" the wraith began, but paused. "Call me 'Reaver'."

"Very well, Reaver," Kain said. "You've an interesting weapon."

"My wraithblade," Reaver said softly. "To be honest, I did not expect to see it."

"Come," Kain said, extending a hand toward the wraith. "Walk with me. We have much to discuss."

Kain and the Reaver walked quite a way. Reaver was silent, for the most part—he would nod approval or comment when Kain pointed out a specific landmark, or important monument, but did not idly chatter.

"This battle, you spoke of," Kain began, cautiously, "With the Hylden. You have fought them?"

"Indeed," the Reaver said quietly. "In more ways than you can imagine."

"I trust the creature I killed, then, was a Hylden?"

"Yes."

Kain paused, mulling over his words. "It did not look like any Hylden I've seen."

"I would not expect it to," Reaver said, stopping a moment to puzzle over a granite obelisk detailing an important battle that took place near that spot. "These twisted creatures are mere shadows of their former selves, trapped in the putrid flesh of corpses. 'Tis the only way they can remain in this realm."

"Are you sure they are Hylden?" Kain said, tapping his claws on the metal of his gauntlet.

"I devoured the creature's soul. I would like to believe I have learned the difference by now," Reaver said, the tone belying a slight smirk on his part.

They walked on in silence for a time. "Reaver is not your true name, is it?"

The Reaver was quiet, mulling over his words. "No," it said finally.

"What is it?"

"I cannot say."

Kain eyed the creature with a new suspicion.

"It is not because I do not trust you," Reaver said simply, continually facing forward. "I merely fear for what damage I may do to the Timestream if you are told." He stopped, looking over the hazy, smoky sky. "It is a difficult choice, but I stand by it."

"Does this 'other Kain'…?"

"Yes, and yes," Reaver said. "But I shall not say more. I let on too much in my ignorance earlier—I may have done irreparable damage to the Timestream as it is."

"Will you go out and seek your master, then?" Kain said, carefully hiding the disappointment from his voice.

The wraith paused again. "No," he said. "He has always been much more efficient at finding me than I ever was at finding him. If I search for him I'll merely complicate matters." Another pause. "Not to mention that he is not the only being searching for me. Though those beings assume I am still within the Soul Reaver."

"You shall remain here, then?"

"If you shall permit me," Reaver said, turning to Kain. "I will not encroach upon your hospitality."

"You are welcome to stay. Do you need…?"

"It is not necessary, no, but if I sleep I shall need to feed less often." Reaver started forward again. "It is a preference, really."

"Very well," Kain said, stepping back onto the flagstones of the ruined Pillars' clearing. There his lieutenants waited, obediently if impatiently.

"Raziel," he said, the eldest vampire straightening up and nodding. "You are to give your quarters to Reaver, as he shall be our guest."

Raziel's face went from a look of pride at being first addressed to one of irritation and confusion. A smug look crossed the faces of the other five.

"While Reaver is with us, Turel shall make accommodations for you, Raziel," Kain continued, eyeing the second-oldest after he had snorted with barely suppressed laughter. Turel scowled, but nodded in consent.

Reaver gave Raziel a slight bow. "I thank you for your generosity."

"That's settled then," Kain said. "Show Reaver to his new quarters."

With that, the lieutenants and the wraith left.

Kain retreated to his throne, and pulled his faithful sword unto his lap. He looked over it with a kind of wonder—and wondered what other secrets it held.


	4. Chapter 4: Stranger

Couldn't think of an "R" name for this chapter. Darn. Oh, well.

I got caught up in college stuff-once orientation hit I was constantly worrying about books, classes and all that junk. If you've waited this long, thanks! And there WILL be a chapter next week! Thanks to the reviewers, seeing ya'll in my inbox makes my day :)

So, without further ado, something completely different...

* * *

In a village on the very outskirts of Kain's empire, a ragtag bunch of Melchiahim idly watched a small hamlet of humans.

Truth be told, they would have much rather slaughtered all the humans and left this forsaken corner of the world behind them forever. Even with the knowledge that the hamlet housed some of Nosgoth's most renowned swordsmiths, metallurgists, and steel-makers (for humans, anyway), they still hated being so far away from the "hub" of the empire. They were the last to receive information of any sort, particularly involving military movements—even the clan wars didn't touch them, because they were not only out of the way, but Kain himself had declared the hamlet to be "no man's land", though guarded by the Melchiahim due to it being within their master's territory.

The artfully-made swords and armor almost made up for it, however.

Inside the village, Jacobi the swordsmith gave his wife Mara a quick peck on the cheek, smiling through his stubble.

She, however, scowled back at him. "I can't believe you're going back into the forge." She brushed past him and scowled at the setting sun.

Jacobi merely shook his head. "I want to get that sword done. It's coming out to be one of the finest I've ever made… Perhaps, if I present it to the Emperor, he may consider taking one of our sons into his service—"

Mara whirled around in shock. "You aren't serious."

Jacobi smiled sadly. She never understood. A troop of gypsies had brought Mara to him, from a distant land—she simply couldn't comprehend what an honor it would be to have one of his sons turned into a God.

"We _need_ our sons," Mara cried, "Who will carry on your trade when you are gone? Who will bring the cart of ingots to your forge? They'll take everything."

Jacobi sighed. "Not all our sons. One, maybe. The other two would be left to continue with us."

Mara harrumphed and stared back out the window, glaring at the sliver of yellow light that obstinately peeked over the tip of a neighbor's house.

He sighed again, grabbed his cloak, and stepped into the rapidly cooling twilight air.

In his forge, Jacobi was lord and master of everything. He shaped metal to his will, punished it in the fires when it refused to bend, created swords of the finest quality out of hunks of metal brought down from the furnace on the side of the mountain.

In his forge, he could pretend that he was as mighty as Kain himself…

A knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts. He left his forge like one would leave another, ducked under a low-hanging beam, and opened the door.

The man behind it made an overwhelming presence before him, blocking out almost all of the now starry sky, the moon glowing high over his left shoulder. His heavy cloak shifted slightly with a warm spring wind, bringing with it the smells of grain from the fields and hay ready to be mown.

Jacobi hid his frown at the heavy hood that left nothing but shadows underneath. "Welcome to my forge, friend. I am Jacobi, head blacksmith of these parts."

"I know who you are," the man said, his voice not so much aloof and haughty as worn and exhausted. He sounded well-born, noble even—Jacobi liked him immediately, though he heard no jangle of coins anywhere near his person.

"Come in, come in," he said, opening a window and bringing a bench around for the stranger to sit. Nodding his head in thanks, the man took his seat—and waited in silence.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with your cloak on a hook?" Jacobi suggested after a few moments of silence. "I have a hook right here by the door—"

"No, thank you," the stranger said, "I am fine. Kind of you to offer, though."

"What brings you to these parts?" Jacobi asked, returning to his forge for a moment—he removed the now-white-hot metal, clicked his tongue in disapproval, and set it off to the side to cool.

"Many things," the stranger said, "First and foremost, my need of a good sword. I know that you are the best of human—and vampire—kind."

"Oh, I couldn't claim such a title over our Lords," Jacobi said quickly, trying to mask the triumphant smile that appeared unbidden on his lips with his crushing loyalty, "I am a mere human, a swordsmith who lives to serve."

The man chuckled. "Your humility is refreshing. I'm afraid I do not have much to offer, but I am willing to give what I have."

This is what Jacobi was afraid of. He hesitated a long moment, mulling over his options. To his left lay four-and-fifty longswords, commissioned by Lord Melchiah. They were each engraved with the Melchiahim crest—they wouldn't do. A caravan was supposed to arrive to receive them within the week.

To his right lay a special commission for Lord Raziel—immediately off limits. If Lord Raziel didn't get his sword when he specified needing it, it wouldn't matter to him if Jacobi was the last swordsmith in Nosgoth—his head would roll.

And, in front of him…

"All I have to offer for now is a sword I was hoping to present to the Emperor," he said, a slight mournful tinge to his voice. "It—it's not finished, not yet, but, if you can wait—"

"That will not be fully necessary," the stranger said, rising. "I was mostly wondering if you could forge a blade out of these."

Jacobi turned, and was dumbstruck. The stranger's right hand, wrapped in bandages, looked to be barely more than a mitten, but the long, thin metal shards it held were infinitely more precious than even the finest ore pulled from the mountain's heart. Jacobi picked up a shard, watched it glisten in the light—it looked almost magical.

The stranger's other hand, also concealed with bandages—or maybe rags?—caressed the hilt of what was probably a sword, though what sort of vile creature would twist metal into such a jagged, coarse state was beyond him. The blade was cracked, and had a black, almost oily sheen that seemed to absorb the light.

"What—" Jacobi started, kneeling to get a good look at the blade, then returning to the enchanting metal shards. "Why—_Who_—?"

"I offer you whatever metals are left over from the creation of this blade. All I ask is that both metals be used, as much as they can—their properties are very important to me." The Stranger paused, and said, "But the balance of the metals must be equal. If one overpowers the other, the value of the blade will be lost."

"I—" Jacobi said in wonder. "I—yes. Yes, I will." He gingerly accepted the silver metal, placing it alongside the unfinished sword—he would use this one as a base, there wasn't enough of the silvery metal to equal out half of a blade. He accepted the sword from The Stranger, was temporarily startled by its lightness, set it beside his worktable, and gave an almighty yawn.

"Oh," he said, a bit amazed, "It's late. I didn't realize how late it was. You must be tired—we don't have a guest room, but I can—"

"I have slept in far less comfortable places, my friend," The Stranger said, raising a hand. "I will return at dawn."

"Oh, no, I'll not have you sleep out in the cold," Jacobi said, darting to the back of his workshop. He emerged a minute later with a wooden cot. "Let me get some blankets from inside the house, sir, and you can sleep in here. It'll be warm, and safe, and we can talk again over breakfast, yes?"

The Stranger was silent for a long moment. "You are very kind. I don't—thank you."

Jacobi smiled, and rushed inside to get blankets and inform Mara of his guest.


End file.
